


to be where you are

by yearningdream



Series: royal pain in the ass [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Red White & Royal Blue Fusion, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, YES its a tag phew, i love the fact drista has a tag as she should, no beta we die like my faith in c! wilbur, there are Lots of misunderstandings for no reason at all except plot lmfao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29885025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yearningdream/pseuds/yearningdream
Summary: clay, the son of the president of the united states, has a deep rooted hate for the prince of england. so much so, that he's willing to do almost anything to avoid seeing him. when a series of inconveniences results in him having to attend the royal wedding of the princess of england, their paths inevitably cross. and of course, as is the case when two people who are meant to be meet, sparks fly, and everything changes.or, alternatively: here, have a red, white and royal blue au.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Karl Jacobs, Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Series: royal pain in the ass [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199213
Comments: 16
Kudos: 66





	to be where you are

**Author's Note:**

> hello fellow dnfers!! so recently, i was gifted a copy of red white and royal blue from one of my lovely tiktok followers. and that induced a whole lotta brainrot so here we are!! the au that no one asked for but i think we needed (you're welcome)
> 
> it should be said i have not edited this, so if there are mistakes ignore them :) thats all, onto the fic :)
> 
> special thank you and shout out to my lovely friend [fear](https://fearwastaken.tumblr.com/), who sprinted with me and gave me the motivation to finish this <3 ly fear
> 
> also, title from wish you were by florence + the machine

The first rule of being the child of any politician is that you can’t make mistakes. Or you can, as long as it’s planned and approved and tested for focus groups and riveting enough that it only boosts your fame. The kind of “mistake” you won’t get criticized for. 

Clay, almost since birth, has been the kind of child who only makes mistakes for the hell of it. Which, as the son of the President of the United States of America? Not the most serendipitous decision the universe has ever made. He’s explained it to his best friend, his mother, even his very, very tired secret service agent: something about the rush of not being caught always motivates him enough.

Clay has never needed a reason. And that, enough, is a mistake. 

“No.” His mother says emphatically, stabbing the eggs that she had deemed her breakfast for the day. The fork clinks against the elegant plate with finality.

“What do you mean, no?” Clay says incredulously. “You haven’t even heard the entire idea. Might I add, it’s a brilliant idea.” 

His mother rolls her eyes. “No matter how brilliant the so-called-brilliant idea, it’s still going to be a no, Clay.” 

“Would it be pretentious for me to say I even prepared a slideshow?”

“That depends. Do you actually _have_ a slideshow, or were you planning on running to the bathroom and whipping one up on your phone?”

Clay gasps in mock horror. “I’d never.”

“You literally did that last time.” His sister points out unhelpfully, who is nursing a cup of hot chocolate. “It was a disaster.” She turns her face to their mother, a sweet saccharine smile on her face. The very kind she plasters when she’s about to do something that will fuck over Clay. “Mom, I actually decided I _do_ want to see the gardens in London.” 

Clay groans, and his mother claps her hands with delight. Curse Drista and her tendency to bring up bets they had made at the worst time. 

“You know the deal, Clay,” She taunts from across the table, “I won the bet, which means you have to come with me to London. Luckily for us, there’s an occasion that already requires our attendance.” She takes a satisfied bite out of the pastry laid in front of her. 

The occasion, in question, is the Royal Wedding of the darling princess of England. Normally, Clay doesn’t mind events. Actually, no, that's a lie, he despises them, but there are usually expansive spreads of food, and hey, if he’s going to listen to old men talk about how their respective countries would be asserting their dominance, at least he’d be full while doing it. 

The only exception to that general agreement is the Prince of England, the darling of the modern England media, as well as Clay’s arch nemesis, Prince George. 

Arch nemesis, according to his agent, was far too dramatic for the “rivalry” that existed between them. But Clay, out of spite, buys every magazine that the Prince was featured on to glare daggers into his perfect smile. Out of spite. 

He’s sure Prince George does some equally morbid version of hating him. It would only be fair, of course. 

Which is why Clay came prepared with a list of 21 compelling arguments that would illustrate why he should be excused from attending the royal wedding. (Number one was simply “because I don’t want to go”, which, despite his opinion that it was convincing and compelling, was immediately shot down.)

Of course, as he (unfortunately) expected, his mother had said no. All thanks to his annoying sister, too. She just _had_ to cash in on her end of the bet right when Clay was getting somewhere in his argument. He glares at Drista spitefully, who smiles cheerfully in return. To the left of her, their mother’s right hand woman, Puffy, snickers. 

“Puffy.” he sighs, and she smiles. 

“What?” She feigns innocence, looking knowingly at his mother. “Anyways, now that that’s settled--” She glances at the time on her digital watch, “-- we have a few things to finish before we head on our flight.” 

She raises a finger. “Number one, Clay, you have last minute fittings to get to. Analise is worried your dark green suit, the one for the second reception, doesn’t fit right.” She raises a second finger. “Number two, you have to post about you leaving on your socials, yes, that means you too, Drista. I have appropriate caption ideas listed in one of the emails I sent you this morning.” She glances down at the tablet she’s been swiping at for the past half an hour Clay’s been at the table. “That’s all for you two, Drista, see me in ten minutes? I need to confirm the list of people you are allowed to have altercations with this weekend.” His sister groans. She probably wouldn’t talk to anyone she didn’t already know, but Puffy was their mother’s right hand woman for a reason--she was meticulous and thorough. 

Clay pushes his chair back and gets up, already heading to his room. So what, he was heading to London? No one can stop him from moping about it. 

Actually, scratch that too, he thinks the minute he sees the notification for a text on his phone. One person can probably stop him from moping about it. He starts running across the long, well decorated hall leading up to his room, turning the door knob to see his best friend sitting cross legged on the floor, leaning on his bed. 

“You look like shit,” Sapnap grins, looking up at him. Clay immediately sits beside him. Since they were kids both of them were forced to grow up in the spotlight because of their parents. It’s always been Sapnap and Clay. Clay and Sapnap. Shoulder to shoulder, Clay leans into his best friend.

“Compliment, coming from you, really.” Clay responds, and Sapnap snorts. He wrinkles his nose though, feeling for a bump on his forehead. “The makeup crew threw a fit because I’m breaking out.” He shrugs. “Can’t help it if I’m stressed.”

“Stressed about what? Going to England? It’s all so bougie.” 

“Did you hear that thing that was like every chair was worth at least a thousand dollars? Where are they getting all that money?” 

Sapnap snorts again. He picks at the threads of Clay’s bedroom carpet. “Taxpayers, or something.” Sapnap fishes his phone out of his pocket and opens instagram. “Hey, dummy, look at this.”

Clay peers over and narrows his eyes at the sight of Prince George. The most recent of his pictures on instagram is a picture of photographers taking pictures of him for a shoot for some well known magazine. The entire thing would be horribly redundant, but seeing as Clay has pictures like that on his instagram, he refrains from commenting. “Okay, and?” Clay asks, a little confused. 

“The caption, dumbass.” Clay peers closer. 

_freeing up my week for the wedding (and the guests it’ll bring!!)_

Clay purses his lips. “This could be about anyone.” Sapnap rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, but everyone knows it’s about you and your family.” 

“No one knows that. You’re just speculating.”

Sapnap leans his head back and sighs melodramatically. “Why must you always spoil my fun? So what if I’m speculating? It’s not my fault your life is horribly boring.”

Clay laughs. His face is in the tabloids every week, some speculation from the paparazzi flooding his notifications. Half of it isn’t true, it wasn’t as if he left the house often enough to actually actively create problems. Though, when he did leave the house--he shivers, remembering the last time he had gotten caught by the paparazzi meeting a girl he thought was cute. 

“Dude, I’m so glad you’re coming to England. I don’t know how I’d survive the whole ordeal without you.” Clay’s grin falls at Sapnap’s guilty face. “Don’t tell me…”

Sapnap rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I can only be there for the last day of the event. I got caught up in some other stuff.”

Clay lays dramatically on the carpet of his bedroom. “Only the last day? I’m actually gonna die. I’m literally gonna die.”

“Oh calm down, you big baby.” Sapnap jabs the inside of Clay’s stomach. “It’s only two days.”

“Two days with the royal pain in my ass, that’s what.” Clay pulls the bottom of his eyelids in an attempt to display his utter exasperation. “And you know how the press is, they’ll make me, like, _talk to him._ ” 

Sapnap bursts into laughter. “Dude, he’s not even that bad. You make it sound like talking to him is the end of the world.”

Clay frowns. “He has absolutely no personality. He said in his interview to Vogue that his favourite colour is blue. _Blue._ It’s the most basic of colours.”

Sapnap looks at Clay expectantly, as if he’s waiting for a punchline. That look turns into incredulousness, when the punchline doesn’t come. “You cannot hate the Prince over the fact he likes the colour blue. That’s ridiculous.” Sapnap pauses. “Also, why did you read his Vogue interview in such detail?”

“I did _not_ read it in detail, it just caught my eye.”

“Caught your eye?” Sapnap raises an eyebrow. “You’re so obsessed with the Prince. It’s almost concerning, dude.” 

“I’m not obsessed.”

Sapnap stands up, pacing in thought. “No, no, actually. Now that I think of it, you are. Almost an unhealthy amount, dude.” His eyes widen with excitement. “You have a little crush on the Prince of England, don’t you.”

Clay chokes on air. “Crush? A crush? On the, on the Prince? The Prince?”

“It’s almost as if you didn’t hear me properly.” Sapnap says dryly. “Yes, the Prince. I mean, it makes sense. He’s attractive, smart, rich--” Sapnap mimes holding bills. “--did I mention attractive? He’s a catch, if you really think about it.”

“You’ve lost it. You’ve actually lost it.” Clay sits up. “I’ve hated the Prince forever, for years. I don’t have a crush on him.”

“Does the Prince even know why you hate him? Do you know why you hate him?”

“Of course I know why I hate him! I’m not stupid, Sapnap.”

“Then why do you hate him? Tell me.”

A long pause stretches between the conversation. Sapnap is about to interject, victorious, when Clay crosses his arms across his chest, stubborn. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“That’s true,” Sapnap admits, “but it hasn’t stopped you before. Anyways, all this is proving my point.”

“You didn’t prove shit.”

“I proved it,” Sapnap says giddily, “and I’ll even bet on it.” Sapnap knows Clay well. Well enough to know that Clay is too competitive for his own good.

“A bet?” Clay grins, his teeth glinting. “Alright, Pandas, what do you have for me?”

Sapnap grins back. He pulls up the calendar app on his phone, looking for the three days that the wedding would be happening. Random reminders for events and posting schedules litter the boxes for each day. “You’ll be in England, staying at the grounds for two days before I come and make the wedding infinitely cooler.” Clay snorts.

“Sure.”

“Shut up.” Sapnap grins, and continues. “In those two days, if you have some gay realization and you figure out that you have a crush on George, I win. If you manage to last two days and I come to England and you still think you hate him, you win.”

“What do I win, though?” Clay thinks. “Or, we just decide on the third day? Based on who wins?

“Deal.”

Clay knows he has this in the bag. He’s already started thinking about every hilarious thing that he could get Sapnap to do for winning this bet. 

If, late at night, he considers, briefly, what might happen in the case Sapnap is right? That’s no one’s business but his own. 

Clay has never understood the appeal of private jets. The whole debacle was new to him, the version of him that was a little boy from Florida who played in the little sandbox in his house. Back then, he remembers flying and feeling comforted by the fact that everyone around him was probably as airsick as he was. Now, sitting in a jet surrounded only by an attendant, his mother, and his already sleeping sister, he can’t help but miss the fullness of economy class.

Of course, that’s only when he’s not distracted by every luxury that comes with a private jet. After he’s watched every possible movie that even remotely interests him (yes, he cried during the notebook), he sits, idle, tapping his foot and trying to figure out something to do. He needs something to keep his mind off of the impending wedding. 

That’s when Puffy walks towards him and sits in the seat next to him seriously. She holds out a stack of papers to him. 

He raises an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“Your mother is aware of your penchant to get into trouble.” She pulls out a few papers, and orders them on a clipboard that seems to have materialised out of nowhere. “This is a sort of, catch all agreement that you won’t cause any trouble.” 

“What, a contract? To not cause trouble? Puffy, isn’t that a bit excessive?”

“It’s more an agreement, Clay.” She looks at him seriously. “The royal family has spent a lot of money on this wedding, and your mother has spent even more money on U.S-British relationships. She, and I, for that matter, refuse for all of that to be spoiled because you got bored at a party.”

“So what, I just sign the agreement?”

“Of course not. Should you break the contracts of the agreement, you will receive a consequence.”

“What’s my consequence?” 

“Spend an entire month in the British Capital, along with mandated appearances with the Royal Family.” 

Clay’s blood runs cold. A month? That was a bit much, even for his mother. He guesses the Royal Wedding must be a bigger deal to her than he’d initially thought. “Do I have to sign the agreement?”

“Yep.” Puffy emphasizes on the P with finality. 

He takes the pen from her hand, and signs his full name on the dotted line. He guesses now there’s more riding on this entire wedding than Sapnap’s stupid bet. He purses his lips, looking down at the contract on the paper. Spending three days in the general vicinity of Prince George was already a trial, but a whole month afterwards? 

Clay would just try really hard not to screw anything up. Simple enough...right?

The wedding venue is about as over the top as you’d expect it to be for a Royal Wedding. It’s only the location for the first wedding event, a calm reception with promise of food and interaction, but really not much else. Clay wonders sullenly, as he tugs on the itchy collar of his dress shirt, why they couldn’t have condensed all three days into one. 

Begrudgingly, though, he must admit that it’s beautiful. The wedding is covered in purple flowers, and against the creamy white that the bride wore as well? It’s a pretty place. He eyes the food table as the speakers drone on and on about how the bride and groom are a match made in heaven. 

When they’re finally (finally) allowed to walk around and socialise as the bride and groom have a minute alone, Clay makes a beeline to the refreshments table, looking for some water, at least. His easy, excited demeanor falls the minute he hears another voice behind him. 

“Figures you’d immediately head for the refreshments. You’d think someone with such a big role in their country would at least _try_ to make connections with the people on the guest list.” Clay had heard those lilting vowels, the dips in certain words, the infuriating voice, so, so many times. Through interviews, through talk shows, even through youtube videos. But somehow, they all seemed to pale in comparison to the real version of it. 

Prince George. 

“It’s a pleasure to see you too.” Clay responds dryly, not bothering to give him the satisfaction of turning around to face him. 

“What, too good for this meager event? Does the lovely first son only have the time to consider the most elite of guests?”

“I don’t use people to make connections. I just talk to whoever I want.”

George leans back into the refreshments table, meeting Clay’s eyes. “An interesting approach, sure. But you’re telling me your friend, the one that’s always on your instagram..with the strange name, what was his name?” George knows his name. He smirks like he knows his name. “Ah yes, Sapnap. You’re telling me you’re not his friend for the connections his name brings?”

“Of course not. Like I said, I’m not a dickwad.” Clay responds immediately. “Speaking of dickwads--” He levels his gaze onto George’s. 

George smiles with wicked delight. Clay curses himself. Why the hell did he respond like that? It was only giving the Prince what he wanted. 

“Hm.” The Prince hums happily, picking a profiterole off the display. He takes a bite out of it, then smiles at Clay. “You’re far too easy to goad, you know.” He points his nose up. “It’s not a challenge at all.”

“Is that all people are to you? Challenges, _games?”_ Clay feels his ears turn red in anger.

“Of course not,” says the Prince, apathetic. “Only you.”

“Only me?”

“Well, of course.” The Prince says, mocking surprise. “Did you think I liked to annoy anyone other than you?” He eats the last of his profiterole, then looks for a napkin to wipe his fingers on. He turns away, and raises a hand to Clay as he walks away. “Till later, I suppose.” He says airily, and Clay stands at the dessert table in confusion.

He’s not entirely sure what the purpose of that conversation was, but damn if he wasn’t sure of one thing. Sapnap had been very, very wrong. 

About three hours later, and Clay’s patience is running thin. Now that he thinks of it, three days of events isn’t necessarily the biggest deal. However, each of the events is at least five hours long, and Clay was already bored within the first five minutes. Every time he thinks of doing something remotely interesting, Puffy catches his eye from across the room with a warning glare. And that’s enough to motivate him to speak to another old man about politics for another fifteen minutes. 

He doesn’t want to admit it, but the only time he wasn’t completely bored was during his two minute conversation (Fight? Argument? He wasn’t sure what to call it.) with the Prince. As much as he hated even the thought of it, he had to confess that his eyes had caught on the royal pain in the ass far more times than he could count. Everytime, the Prince would turn his eyes and bat his eyelashes mockingly, and Clay would turn his head away as quickly as his eyes had caught him, his cheeks burning. 

During the fourth hour of the event, the Prince walks up to him again, as he has exhausted his supply of hor d'oeuvres and is walking towards the refreshments table in search of more. 

“We have to stop meeting like this.” The Prince says, amused. 

“We aren’t meeting,” Clay points out, “You walked up to me.”

“You looked bored.” The Prince shrugs. “I decided to spice up your mood.”

“And what makes you think you’re capable of that?”

The Prince has many smiles. Clay would know, he’s seen all of them. Polite and indifferent, poorly masked bemusement, wicked mischievousness. The last smile makes Clay nervous every time (probably for all the wrong reasons). He remembers when the Prince had posed with the same smile on the cover of GQ. He had the magazine cover hidden in his bedside table’s drawer. For hating purposes, of course. Not because it was the most attractive thing he had seen in his life. Of course not. 

Seeing it in person was a whole nother poison, though. Clay thought he’d like to kiss the smirk off his pretentious princely face. Not kiss, slap. Why’d he think of kissing? Jet lag. The jet lag was making him insane. 

“I’m capable of it.” The Prince just says. “Especially because this event is horribly boring.” 

“Isn’t this _your_ sister’s wedding?” Clays says dubiously. 

“That doesn’t mean I want to attend three dull events. I have better things to be doing.”

“Like what?” Clay laughs. “Feeding the Royal Cat and Dog?”

“Amongst other important tasks,” The Prince agrees humorously. He looks at the wedding venue, looking at all the people who have clumped together into small groups, discussing whatever it was important people discussed. “Remind me, if I ever get married, to make sure I only have one event. One event. One and done.”

“Why? So the bride won’t run away.”

“Exactly.” 

Clay laughs out loud, and the Prince grins. “You’re dumb.”

“I’m technically the prince, you know. I could have you stuffed for that.”

“Will you?” Clay asks easily.

“You’d look horribly creepy with all the rest of my stuffed animals. I think I’ll leave you be.”

“Bless your heart.” Clay says sarcastically, and the Prince flourishes the air dramatically, taking a bow. 

Clay groans, checking the time on his watch. “We still have an hour to go.”

“We could leave, I mean,” The Prince says suddenly.

“What do you mean?” Clay asks. The Prince? The perfectly poised prince, offering to sneak out. Curious and curiouser, Clay thinks. Every time Clay thinks that he has the Prince down pat, he changes his appearance in his head. There’s a rent free joke Sapnap would probably make here, Clay muses.

“I mean, let’s leave.” The Prince says. “I, Prince George, decree that this party is terribly boring and that the sushi place two blocks down has great sushi and that we should go there.”

“Well, Prince George, if you haven’t noticed, there are about a hundred photographers here and probably even more outside the gates of the castle. How do you propose we leave, then?”

The Prince wrinkles his nose. “Don’t call me Prince George. George is fine.” He says, waking his hand. “And because I am very, very smart, I already thought of that. We’re going to go inside under the guise of me showing you around or something. International relations. We’ll ditch these uncomfortable clothes for hoodies, or something, then we sneak out through one of the secret exits in the castle. No one will even know we’re gone.”

Clay has to admit, The Prince, or actually, George has thought of pretty much everything. “Okay,” he says, impressed, “lead the way.”

The smile that George gives him is genuine and bright. It’s not one Clay has seen before. 

Clay lives in a big house, now that his mother’s the president. It doesn’t stop him from being impressed with the sheer vastness of the castle. He masks it pretty well, he thinks, but after the fourth flight of stairs he starts to get exhausted. “Where is your room?” He asks, groaning.

“Tired already? We’re almost there, you big baby.” George opens the door to his room, and it’s almost nothing like Clay expected. It’s huge, of course, decorated immaculately, but there’s a gaming setup in the corner and the walls are covered in Harry Potter posters and trinkets. 

“You read Harry Potter?” Clay asks curiously, and George snorts. 

“Read Harry Potter? More like lived and breathed it.” He traces the sign for Platform 9 ¾. “Between that and Minecaft or CS:GO I had a couple of other obsessions, but yeah.” He looks at Clay’s surprised face. “What, you thought the royal family wasn’t allowed to have hobbies?” 

“Yeah, honestly,” Clay admits sheepishly. “Other than like, horse-riding.” 

George laughs. “I am quite good at horseback riding.” He says. 

“Of course you are.” Clay rolls his eyes fondly.

George takes a look at the rack that sits off in the corner of his room. He takes off two hoodies from the rack and holds them up to Clay. “Which hoodie do you want? These two are extras from my fitting, and they look like they’d fit you.”

“Uh, the green one?” Green was his favourite colour. 

George purses his lips, examining the hoodies for far too long. He then holds out the yellow one. Clay looks at it in confusion. “Ah, crap, that was the yellow one wasn’t it.”

Clay probably looks like an idiot. “I-, huh?”

“I’m colourblind,” George explains apologetically. 

“Oh.” Clay says. “What, so you can’t see colours?”

“No, you dumbass. I just can’t see specific colours. Like green,” He says, now pointing towards the green hoodie. 

“What colours _can_ you see, then?” Clay asks, out of interest.

“Blues, yellows, some others.” George waves his hand around. Clay remembers how he had said his favourite colour was blue. 

“Is that why your favourite colour is blue?” 

“I-” George says, almost at a loss for words. “How did you know that?”

“Must have read it in an article somewhere.” 

“Ooh,” George laughs, “Somebody’s _obsessed_ with me. You’re literally a simp.” 

“Oh, shut up.” Clay says. This was a little too close to the conversation he had had with Sapnap. 

George throws the green hoodie to Clay, not bothering to check whether he catches it. (He does, but barely.) He unbuttons his tux, pulling his dress shirt over his head. “What are you doing?” Clay asks, panicked. His voice is a little too high pitched for his own comfort. 

“I’m changing?” 

“In front of me?” Clay is stuck between turning away and closing his eyes and keeping his eyes fixed to the lines of George’s back. 

“Do you have a problem with it?” George asks. Even turned around, Clay can hear the smirk on his face. 

“Of course not.” Clay says, his voice almost raspy. He had changed a thousand times before in front of Sapnap. For whatever reason, this was very, very different. He turns away and starts unbuttoning his dress shirt, when he hears the zip of the front of trousers and completely loses his nerve. “Do, do you have a bathroom?”

George laughs. “Yeah, over there.” Clay just barely turns around to see where he’s pointing, and practically runs in the direction of the bathroom. He doesn’t miss George’s very, very amused smile.

In the bathroom, Clay changes in peace, but he can’t stop his heart from racing. Calm down, he practically begs himself. Calm the fuck down. 

When he comes out, George is wearing a pale blue hoodie. “You done?” He asks, still amused, and Clay nods, trying desperately to ignore the flush on his cheeks. 

“Sushi?” He tries to say casually, “I believe I was promised something about a secret entrance.”

George makes a motion to follow him, and that’s that. Two boys pulling hoodies over their head. As they leave, George hands Dream a face mask with a smiley face on it, and Dream puts it over his face. He bounces with excitement. Anything would be better than the wedding, but this seemed like exactly what Clay had wanted-- a bit of fun.

They do not manage to get off the castle grounds. Apparently their leave from the party was noticed, not only by the guests but by the paparazzi as well. Clay checks his phone to see a bunch of laughing emojis from his sister, a screenshot of a news article from his mother, and _nine texts from Puffy._ Clay does not want to open them. 

George groans, glancing down at his phone. “They caught us.” He says. He squints as reads the quick expose that has been published on some gossip tabloid within half an hour of them leaving. If Clay wasn’t upset about the fact their cover had been blown, he might have been impressed. The tabloids were crazy.

“Well, what do they think?” Clay asks. The story must be interesting enough. George scans the article and promptly bursts into laughter. 

“They,” he bursts into another spurt of laughter between every word, “They think we left to go _fight_ each other. Like, with our fists.” 

Clay laughs too. “Wait, a fight? Why?”

George shrugs. “Apparently your dislike for me isn’t as subtle as you think it is.”

“My dislike for you?” Clay says dumbly. “You mean it’s not mutual?”

“What reason would I have to hate you? I’ve never given that impression, have I?”

“What about me being a game? That isn’t being friendly or whatever.”

George reddens. “Ahem. That would be..” He clears his throat, embarrassed. “That wasn’t me being mean. I was, uh, flirting with you.”

“You were _what_?” 

“Forget I said that.” George turns his head away. Clay puts his hands on his shoulders.

“No, no--” Clay sees Puffy walking up to them, angrily. “We _will_ talk about this later. And I mean that.” George gulps, somewhat sullenly. 

“You and me, right now.” Puffy says. And Clay, who hasn’t quite processed what George just to him, is dragged away by one (1) very angry secret service agent. 

He looks back, as he’s being pulled away by the arm, but George is faced away from him. 

“What were you _thinking_?” His mother and Puffy yell at the same time. His mother is angry, sure, but Puffy’s glare is absolutely withering. 

“Sneaking off, from the royal wedding of all things. _The Royal Wedding!?_ ” Puffy starts. “Of all the idiotic, selfish, stupid, ridiculous, _childish_ , things when we specifically told you to be on your best behaviour.” She rubs her temples. “There was one hour left of the event, for christs sake. And them coercing the poor Prince into your, your--”

“Shenanigans?” His mother offers.

“Shenanigans!” Puffy spits. “Your mother has spent years, _years,_ Clay, making her way onto the international stage. I won’t allow a dimwitted _child_ who can’t control his need to fight every guy his age because of an excess in testosterone ruin her hard work!”

“Puffy..” He starts, and she pauses. “George, I mean the Prince, is the one who offered.”

By the look on her face, that was exactly what he should have _not_ said. 

“The entire nation thinks that you and the Prince are going to be the cause of World War |||, so trust me when I say I couldn't care less who offered.” Puffy looks down at her tablet, taking notes furiously as she talks. “For the next two days, you will remain a sensible distance from the Prince. And then after that, during your month-long stay in England for disregarding the very simple clauses on the contract _you signed,_ you will be his best friend in the entire world.” 

“Puffy, isn’t this a bit much?"

The glare she gives him in response shuts him up. Only then George’s words come back to him, and he realises the implications of Puffy’s conditions. George is going to think..well, he isn’t sure what George is going to think. He’s not completely sure what he thinks, either. 

He hangs his head down and agrees to everything Puffy says to him, and then resolves something in his head. Even though Clay doesn’t know what to do, Sapnap will. 

“Sapnap.”

“Dream.”

“Okay, wait why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad, what?” From across the phone, Sapnap laughs. “I just thought we were being serious.”

“Okay, okay, nevermind.” Clay sighs. “Listen, I fucked up.”

“Fucked up, slash pos or fucked like fucked up?”

“Did you just say slash pos out loud?”

“I’ve been spending too much time on twitter.”

“Ah.” Clay paces as he explains. “Anyways, slash neg. Wait, how can you fuck up slash pos.”

“This conversation is ridiculous. And I thought like, you messed up our bet, which would be good and bad.”

“Oh. Wait, what? Oh my god.” Clay shakes his head exasperatedly. “Okay, just shut up for like, two seconds.” 

“Shutting up.”

“Sapnap.”

“Dream.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too! Anyways, continue, oh my god. I have to go somewhere soon.”

“Wait, where are you?”

“In the bathroom, hiding from my makeup artist. Because I’m _trying_ to provide emotional support to my emotionally stunted closeted best friend.” 

Clay runs a hand through his hair with guilt. “Sorry, dude. I wouldn’t have called you if I knew you were busy.”

“Shut up. If you don’t tell me what’s going on I’m tweeting about you crush on the Prince with a bunch of hotface emojis.” He can hear Sapnap’s grin through the phone. “Relax dude, I wouldn’t have picked up the phone if I didn’t want to. Plus they want to put eyeliner on me and I’m afraid of it so maybe if I stall enough they’ll give up.”

“You’d look good in eyeliner.”

“I’d look good in anything.” Sapnap says airily. 

“True.” Clay smacks his cheeks in an attempt to force himself to stop stalling. “So you know how the entire world thinks that George and I hate each other? Well, it’s sort of not true because he’s actually pretty funny and he told me he was flirting with me when we were going to sneak away from the wedding but then Puffy got mad because the press realised we were gone and now I’m supposed to avoid him for a few days and then after that stay in England for a month where we have to act like we’re friends so that everyone thinks it was just a small argument between bros or something.” Clay takes a breath. “Okay, yeah. That’s everything.”

Sapnap doesn’t respond for a second. “First of all, what the fuck? I leave you for one day and suddenly you’re in the tabloids again. Second of all, what the fuck? You didn’t know the Prince has been flirting with you this entire time? And third of all, what the--”

“Okay, okay I get it. What the fuck. But yes, _no one told me the prince liked guys._ ” Clay counters. 

“Were we supposed to debrief you or something? The prince is the _most_ non-straight person I’ve ever met.”

“Apparently this is old news? I had no idea.”

“He’s not _out_ or anything, but it’s the vibes, you know? _The vibes._ ” 

“Okay, but I need a solution, vibes aside.

“You see, my hopelessly dumb friend,” Sapnap says with the air of a Shakespearean heroine, “I have amazing news for you.”

“What?”

“I’ll be in London by tomorrow.”

“What? Sapnap, that _is_ great news, what the heck? I thought you said you couldn’t be here till the third day?”

“I rescheduled a whole lot of things to today so I could fly in tomorrow. I’m literally about to pass out from exhaustion.”

“Sapnap.”

“Dream.”

“You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“Who said I did it for you, huh? Maybe I wanted to come to the Royal Wedding to flirt with the Prince.” Sapnap’s tone is gentle. Clay is so, so grateful for his friend.

“Yeah, yeah.” Clay grins. “So, when are you going to fly in? Maybe I can come to the airport.” 

“First of all,” Sapnap disagrees, “I doubt you’ll be allowed out of the castle grounds, and second of all, there’s actually a reason I managed to reschedule everything. One of the guys I was supposed to meet for an event thing is in England for the wedding tomorrow too. So we just rescheduled to be in the same place. He’s going to pick me up.”

“Oh, who’s the guy?” Clay asks.

“An rising actor and screenplaywriter. Karl Jacobs, his name is.”

“Oh, I think I’ve heard of him.” Clay thinks. “He’s the guy that’s acting for Tales, right? He’s writing it too or like, producing it, maybe?”

“Yeah, him. He seems nice, actually. We were going to talk about a charity thing I’ve been working on.”

“Oh, cool.”

“Oh, actually I have to go, my makeup artist is banging on the door of the bathroom. Later, Dream.” Sapnap hangs up before Clay can reply. 

He leans back on his bed. Fuck, is all he can think. He puts his earbuds in his ear and stares at the ceiling of the guest room he’s in. How many times had he stared at the ceiling of his room, angrily recounting every second of an encounter he had with the prince?

_What changed?_

Sapnap always looks good, it’s no question. Actually, that’s a rule of being in the spotlight all your life--the paparazzi seem to follow you everywhere. His hair is affixed with the bandanna that has cemented itself as his brand, his clothes tailored to perfection. So when Clay finally sees him, he’s a little surprised by just how ruffled his friend looks as he enters the room. His tie is loose, and there’s the beginning of a hickey on his neck. 

“Dude, what the heck?” Clay smirks, “You hooked up with someone before you got here?”

Sapnap, whose face is still a little flushed, raises a finger. “Not now.” He looks at himself in the mirror and adjusts his tie. “You got any concealer?” 

Clay gets up and pulls a tube of emergency concealer from his clothes drawer. “So you’re not going to give me the details?” Clay leans on the dresser and smiles. “Was she hot at least?”

Sapnap’s face is a little cloudy when he nods. “Yeah, she was.” He shakes his head, and forces a smile on his face. “Anyways, aren’t you going to get ready? We have an hour to get there.”

Clay points to his clothes, already set aside for him. “Yeah, let me change.” He starts walking to the bathroom when Sapnap laughs. 

“Dude, what is _up_ with you? You can just change here, I’ll turn away?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m out of it.” Clay apologizes. He walks into the bathroom anyways. Something about George that day had left a lingering feeling at the back of Clay’s head. He can’t quite explain it. 

Sapnap is a good friend in the sense he turns back to his face in the mirror and says nothing. That was the benefit of knowing someone for well over 9 years, he supposes. Somethings just stayed unexplained, and that was okay. 

When Clay walks out of the bathroom, Sapnap whistles jokingly. “You look _fine,_ dude.” 

Clay grins. “I know, right?” He gestures to Sapnap vaguely. “You all ready?” 

“Good to go, Dreamie!” He whoops, and they walk out of his room together. “I expect an explanation, eventually, you know.” Sapnap says offhandedly.

Clay elbows his side. “Just like I expect an explanation about the hookup.” The intention of the jab was meant to get a smile out of Sapnap, but instead his face drops. “I was just joking, dude, relax. You don’t have to tell me anything.” 

“No, no, I’m just, uh, hungry.” Sapnap’s melancholy expression immediately turns into one of mischief. Clay almost gets whiplash from the difference. “I plan on drinking my weight in champagne tonight, anyways. We should eat something.”

“The last time you got drunk at a party--” Clay starts, and Sapnap hushes him dramatically. 

“No one can know!” He whisper yells, and Clay laughs. As if the entire world didn’t know about the time Sapnap had leaked a major spoiler of a show he was working on. He had suffered the consequences for months. Clay, of course, had found the entire ordeal hilarious. Especially because he had already known. 

“Okay, okay, you drama queen.” Clay agrees and they both jostle each other as they walk down the long hall leading to the front hall. “Other than getting drunk, what’s the plan for tonight?”

“Well, you are going to drink one or two drinks, and then we are both going to say we want to dance and not end up dancing. The usual.” Sapnap grins and waggles his eyebrows. “Unless, of course the Prince asks you to dance.”

“Oh, hell no, not this again. I’m still not over what he told me yesterday.”

Sapnap raises an eyebrow dubiously. “That probably means something, dude.” They continue to walk, but Sapnap turns his head to Clay’s. “And I mean, don’t take it from me, but standing in close proximity to someone usually tells me what I need to know about what I’m feeling.”

“Wh--What do you mean?”

Sapnap raises a finger matter-of-factly. “If your heart races, you’re obviously into them. If it changes nothing, then you;re right and you don’t see them like that.”

“Okay, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” Clay stops, and considers. “What if it was, like, a murderer. If I was in close proximity with a murderer, my heart would probably race, too.”

Sapnap also pauses. “Crap, I didn’t think of that.”

“Yeah, cause you’re dumb.”

“Shut up.”

“Great comeback.” Clay laughs.

“Listen here, Dreamie.” Sapnapo starts threatening and pauses at the sound of someone walking behind them. 

“Who’s Dreamie?” Asks George cheerily. Speak of the devil, Dream thinks, and judging by the look on Sapnap’s face, he was thinking the same thing. 

“This ugly kid.” Sapnap says, pointing a thumb at Clay. “Dream is his minecraft name, and I’ve been calling him it since we were kids.”

“Oh, cool.” George says. “I didn’t know you played minecraft?”

Clay laughs. “Play is one thing. I’m obsessed. Always wanted to speedrun competitively but bias and all.” He shrugs. “Maybe one day, under a fake name.”

“Dream is nice.” George says, falling into line with then as they walk towards the event hall. Clay spends a minute too long looking at his suit, the way it fist him. The deep blue looks so, so good on George, he can’t help but think. “I’d watch your speedruns.” He offers, and Dream smiles.

Sapnap interrupts by pretending to vomit, then smiling innocently when Clay and George whip their heads around to glare at him. “What?” He asks, running a little to finally open the door at the end of the hall, gasping with awe.

“Damn, Georgie, your parents went all out.”

George shrugs bashfully. “My sister really wanted a big wedding.” He eyes the floor leading to the refreshments. “To be honest, I only came for the food.”

“And the drinks,” Sapnap adds helpfully.

“And the drinks,” George agrees goodnaturedly.

As they walk in, cameras flash, and Clay turns to smile or wave as naturally as he can. Might as well give them what they want. 

“What are you wearing, Clay?” One reporter asks him, and he smiles. 

“Valentino.” He says, gesturing to the suit. “I really like it, actually.” 

“I like it too.” George whispers, and Clay isn’t sure if he misheard. He decides to say nothing. Puffy would be angry if he spent too much time with the Prince anyways. 

George says nothing more, only walks past a server holding a tray and grabs a flute of champagne off of it. He disappears into the crowd then, leaving Clay at the edge of the dance floor. He’s torn between the idea of following him, of seeing where he’s going and the idea of just staying where he is. Sapnap, already holding a glass of wine, leans his arm on Clay’s shoulder. 

“You could follow him, you know.” He says. 

“I don’t think I can,” He says quietly.

“Why not, Dream?”

“I’m afraid of what will happen if I will.”

“Why are you afraid,” Sapnap says, “Are you afraid of being wrong?”

“No,” Clay says, as he turns away, already walking in the opposite direction, “I’m afraid of being right.”

It’s almost 1 a.m, and the party shows no signs of slowing down. Clay has already exhausted the list of people he tolerates to talk to, and now he sits sullenly on a chair, eating the last of a fancy snack he’d been offered by a server. The exhaustion was already kicking in, and though he’d been tempted to drink some alcohol, the fear of what he might do with a bit of liquid courage in his system dissuaded him almost immediately. His tie was already loose around his neck, his jacket hanging in a coat room off to the side. He had fiddled with his cuffs one too many times, before remembering that he had to look at least a bit put together. 

Clay sighs. His thoughts were a mess. Sapnap walks over to him, and sits beside him. “You do not look happy to be here,” He points out, and Clay has to agree. “Only you would find some way to be grumpy at what is probably the biggest party of the year.” He pushes his shoulder into Clay’s. “Dude. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, Sapnap. I just feel stupid.”

“Well, that’s not new,” Sapnap snorts. “But continue.”

“Like, I don’t even think I like guys, and I’ve hated George for as long as I’ve been a First Son, you know?” Clay leans his head onto Sapnap’s shoulder. “And somehow in one weekend of talking to him my perception of him is just completely different. _Completely._ ”

“People change.” Sapnap points out. 

“Yeah, you’re right. But what if I’ve been an asshole for no reason this entire time? George is going to hate me. And I mean, hate me.”

Sapnap puts his arm around Dream’s shoulders. “I don’t think George could ever hate you.” He says quietly, “I think George has probably always known what you’re too afraid to admit.”

“What, that I’m in love with him?”

“No,” Sapnap says, “I don’t think you love him. But you might get there.”

Clay swallows. Loving George. That was an interesting notion. “You’re oddly sentimental.” Clay laughs. “Someone has had one too many drinks.”

“I’m not drunk,” Sapnap argues, “Just been thinking a lot.”

“You got a special girl, Sapnap?” Clay asks playfully.

“No.” He replies, and Clay sees he’s not telling a lie. “A special person, maybe.” Clay raises his eyebrows at the correction, but doesn’t say anything. “You know, Dream, I think you’re lucky. Things have always worked out for you, but only because you’ve chosen to make them work.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that the Prince is standing outside of this very banquet hall, sitting on the stairs outside leading up to it. He’s holding two plates of some small pastry, and he’s waiting for you to go see him.”

“Wh--What, now?” Clay blinks. “Sapnap, did he tell you to tell me?” Sapnap stands pulling Clay up with him. 

“Of course he did. Now you tell me, dumbass, you gonna go make out with the royal pain in the ass, or what?” Sapnap smacks Clay’s back and grins, and Clay grins back. 

He doesn’t say anything more, but there are many, many unspoken things between them as Clay pushes through the crowd to find George. He had already wasted far too much time in misunderstandings. The time to fix everything was standing right in front of him, and what was he about to do? 

He was going to romance the absolute hell out of one (1) prince.

George turns almost right away when he hears the large door open. “You came,” He said, and it’s simply an observation.

“I’m here.” Clay says, standing in front of George, who sits awkwardly on the steps. “Sorry I took so long.” 

“You’re here now,” George says. 

“I am.”

They face each other silently, for a moment more, before Clay sits down next to him. He notices the two empty plates and laughs. “Sorry,” George says guiltily, “I got bored waiting.” 

“No, no, it’s alright.” Clay waves his hand. “I’m not really hungry, anyways.” It’s not a lie. Here, sitting beside a pretty prince, the sky a neverending blanket over top them? He feels full with a feeling he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before, not with any girl, at least. 

“The stars sure are beautiful.” George jokes, and Clay grins.

“You’re dumb.”

“Not as dumb as you, but I’d say I’m a close second.”

“Oh yeah?” Clay turns to face him, and even sitting he has to look down at George. “They say like calls to like.”

“Are you implying I’m attracted to you, Dream?” His nickname, on George’s lips? Clay feels lightheaded.

“And what if I am?” Clay tries to keep his cheeks from heating as he continues. “Aren’t you the one who said you were flirting with me?”

“I’m not even sure if that would count as flirting.” George turns his head away, almost, sheepish? He turns back, and the look on his face is _wicked._ “If I was flirting with you, you’d definitely know.”

“Prove it.”

“I- What?”

“Prove it.” Clay repeats. He’s almost entranced by the way George’s lips open and part, then close. George breathes in, then breathes out. He runs a hand through his hair, almost as if it’s for confidence.

He places each of his hands on Clay’s shoulders, then moves his right hand to his neck. And then, he studies his face for a second, before leaning forward and kissing him. Clay sits straight, not moving, before melting into the touch and sighing into his lips. George parts from him, his eyes practically shining. “I’m actually a terrible flirt,” He admits. 

“That didn’t seem so bad,” Clay breathes, before leaning back in to kiss him again. 

When they separate again, George hums happily. “I wasn’t sure if you were, you know, into me.”

“I wasn’t sure either.” Clay confesses. “But now?”

“But now?” George grins.

“I’m not in love with you, George.” Clay says, thinking back to what Sapnap had said. “But I definitely could be.”

“I think we’d be good together. Better as friends, too.” George says, lacing his hands with Clay’s. 

Clay squeezes George’s hand once, before leaning in one more time. That, he thinks, sounds like a promise. Puffy, and the contract, and all the messy details in between? He could figure that out later. For now, at least, he was in the arms of what might be the prettiest boy on earth, and Clay was content with that. 

**Author's Note:**

> to be continued onto the third day of the royal wedding, in the sequel: wish that you were here 
> 
> woo hoo! another day of being single!! i am Suffering!!!
> 
> if you are also single, or you just enjoyed the fic, hmu on my socials: [twitter](https://twitter.com/yearningdream) | [tumblr](yearningdream.tumblr.com)
> 
> if you tell me the word colonel on any one of those socials i will drop kick you and tell you a really stupid thing that happened while i was writing this LMFAO


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